


double edged sword

by Anonymous



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blood and Injury, Consensual Kink, Dirty Talk, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, Knifeplay, M/M, Safewords, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:02:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28425177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “Colour?”But to Atsumu, there’s something pleasing. About pain, that is. And Suna would agree. Something so… Stimulating about the stinging. The drag of a blade as you allow someone to draw it up your body. The blood that seeps in beads and pearls along a thin, slight cut. And Atsumu is all but elated to feel such pain.Unfortunately, he’s been waiting a minute too long.“G… Green.”
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Suna Rintarou
Kudos: 67
Collections: Anonymous





	double edged sword

Beauty is pain, they say. 

And if you were to ask Suna, he’d brush it off. Say that such a saying isn’t accurate. At all. In fact, it’s fucking stupid. The entire logic around the need for plastic surgery and aesthetics in order to deem someone attractive is, in his mind, fucking stupid. If you’re naturally born a way, there shouldn’t be a need to change it in the first place (and Kita would agree with him, murmur something about how his grandmother would say the gods design everyone with their hands, so on so forth, but now isn’t the time to ponder on the modern philosophies that shape today’s society).

But—in essence—the saying isn’t exactly wrong, now that Rintarou halts a mild second to backtrack to the quote. For there’s a reason before him lay Miya Atsumu, roped into submission, a blindfold over his irritating whore eyes.

Atsumu is gorgeous without the need for pain. Chiselled jawline, lidded eyes, gorgeously full thighs. 

“Colour?”

But to Atsumu, there’s something pleasing. About pain, that is. And Suna would agree. Something so… Stimulating about the stinging. The drag of a blade as you allow someone to draw it up your body. The blood that seeps in beads and pearls along a thin, slight cut. And Atsumu is all but elated to feel such pain.

Unfortunately, he’s been waiting a minute too long.

“G… Green.” 

A whimper. Atsumu actually  _ whimpers _ at the thought of it, and he shrinks at the distant noise of a scoff.

“Holy fuck. When you first told me about this I was hesitant but,” Suna mutters, his hand grasping a butterfly knife he generally keeps around his room (and that,  _ that _ was the introduction into it. Atsumu had asked, but Rintarou merely shrugged, said he did tricks with it for fun. The accidental blurt of  _ ‘what else would yer do with it fer fun?’  _ causing Suna to pause cold in his tracks). Atsumu knows the design by heart. His eyes have traced the intricate pattern of a carved fox on one side of the blade far too many times, fantasized about it twice as much. Rin hums, the sound of sheets shifting causing Atsumu to anticipate just… At least a bit of movement in pace. 

Atsumu’s breath hitches at the cold tip slipping underneath his blindfold, being greeted with the smug appearance of Suna. Atsumu spread upon a bed on his back, flicking his observations towards Suna, shifting from the temporary position on top of the other to sit towards the end of the bed.

Just… Sat there. Cross-legged. As if they were doing anything  _ but _ this. As if Atsumu wasn’t ass naked, hands bound behind his back with his cock twitching, hips thrusting into pure fucking thin air. 

Miya’s look shifts to Suna’s sweatpants. He snorts.

“Thatta’ ‘nother knife or are ‘ya just happy ta see me?”

And for a second, he catches Rintarou snorting too, and it’s only then that Suna shifts, rising from his sat position to crawl over and straddle Atsumu’s bare thighs that Atsumu remembers just how much of a disadvantage he currently has in the power department. No arms… Legs won’t do fuck all if Suna’s sitting on them. He’s at a loss.

“Getting a bit ahead of yourself, aren’t you?” Suna whispers. His eyes glaze with darkness, as if self-control slowly seeps from his pupils. “Mm. I don’t even think you can handle this small knife yet but I know you’re such a whore that you’d love for me to use a bigger one. Pain slut.”   
  
Atsumu flourishes in humiliation, in the way Suna looks down on him like he’s worth absolutely nothing. Even if he knows it’s an act, that he knows Suna will ask him time after time for his colour, it’s… Embarrassingly arousing to be put in place, and he all but whimpers at it. His cock reacts painfully, twitching into pure nothing; he’s painfully hard. 

“Rin… C’mon…” He breathlessly responds, “Y’ve been keepin’ me hard for hours… Please…”

It’s a dangerous thing to attempt to tell Suna to do something when he’s the dominant one. Atsumu would know, considering it’s often Suna on the bottom. It’s always fun to push Rintarou down at the chest and pound into him to remind him who’s in control. 

But that’s not… How it is. Currently, at least. 

Rintarou hums, fucking  _ hums _ , and drags his callused palm down Atsumu’s bare chest. He notes how sensitive Atsumu is, how he’ll be cutting the same flesh he touches in under a minute, and how. Holy fuck. He can’t believe they’re actually doing this, and he pauses for a second.

  
Only to mutter—

  
“Colour.”

“Fucking— Green, just c’mon and slice me already!”

It’s almost worrying how willing Atsumu is to be sliced, but. Suna isn’t going to back down. He won’t deny that he merely wants to observe just  _ how _ Atsumu reacts, that he wants to experience Atsumu writhe and moan due to a fucking blade. It’s fun, even better because he knows Atsumu is the one wanting it; there’s, thankfully, no guilt involved. 

Rintarou finds himself raising a brow.

“Awh… Looks like someone forgot who’s in charge.” He whispers. A snort slips from his lips soon after as he leans the slightest bit forward from his straddle position on the upper half of Atsumu’s thighs. Rintarou positions the tip of the blade, slightly on a slant so the incline isn’t  _ directly _ down, but on a more careful angle; he teases. His intent  _ is _ to tease. He allows it to come in contact for a split second with Atsumu’s skin, not even piercing the barrier, before drawing it higher and holding it there. “Beg.  _ Beg _ for it.  _ Beg _ for me to cut you like the whore you are.”

Atsumu’s breath hitches once again as he whimpers at the loss of the blade against him, and he finds himself pleading spontaneously. “Please… Please, Rin… Fuck… Please…” His tongue falls out, as if it’s too big to fit in his massive fucking mouth that he constantly uses to talk, and his already lidded orbs glaze over.

It’s dirty.

And  _ so fucking hot. _

“God. You look like a fucking pornstar,” Rintarou scoffs. “Sticking your tongue out, is that the only thing you know how to do? Fucking slut.”

And with no further words, Suna drags the sharp incline of the blade over Atsumu’s chest in a long, diagonal line from the middle of his clavicle, through the centre of his tits, and ending above his hip. It’s lewd, the way Atsumu’s head throws itself back against the sheets, how his chest rises and falls, how his cock  _ visibly _ twitches. Not only that, but the laceration itself. The way it dances down his torso, beads of blood beginning to form from the cut. 

Fucking beautiful, and Atsumu  _ moans. _

“Oh my god,” Suna mutters, his eyebrows raising into an expression of mockery, “Oh my _ god. _ You’re  _ actually _ getting  _ off _ on this. You’re such a whore that you think someone cutting you feels good. You’re so fucking  _ disgusting _ , Atsumu.” 

  
It’s the way Atsumu’s cock twitches at Rin calling him disgusting that makes Suna laugh, the fact that Atsumu hasn’t even responded yet, just lying there, moaning and writhing as if it’s the only thing he knows how to do. And Rin has to exploit that, obviously, leaning forward right against his ear and whispering, “Oh, you like that, don’t you? Being called fucking disgusting? Like being such a cockslut?” 

No response comes, except for a nod of the head and a series of whimpers; it hazes Suna’s mind over. But once again, worrying.

“Atsumu,” he mutters, rising to sit upwards. “Colour?”

“Guh… Green…” 

So he’s fine. Good to know. 

Suna hums as he draws the flat side of the blade over the droplets protruding out the laceration, smudging the blood on Atsumu’s pure skin, and on the blade itself. He catches Atsumu wince once, twice, three times, before bringing the knife to prod at Atsumu’s lips.

“Clean it for me, whore.”

And he does as asked. There’s no hesitation once a tongue dips from Atsumu’s lips, Suna assisting him in dragging it down. The red stains his muscle, and the slick saliva of Atsumu connects a string from the tip of Suna’s butterfly knife to the edge of his tongue. Fucking hot. Again. And suddenly, an idea sparks in Rintarou’s mind. 

“Baby, you think you can hold my knife while I jerk you off?”

Atsumu nods, a hand behind his back opening.

  
Rin has another idea, though. 

Rintarou forces out another scoff. As his hand trails north, the palm without occupation grasps Atsumu’s jaw firmly, forcing it open. His lips instantly fall open, threads of spit connecting teeth to others, tongue to lip. And without hesitation, Suna places the knife blade-down on the row of Atsumu’s lower teeth. He guides his top row down, until a  _ clack _ signifies the blade tightly in the confines of Atsumu’s teeth.

“Colour.”   
  
“Guheen—” Atsumu responds, warped due to the fact that, obviously, he can’t talk with a fucking knife in his mouth.

“Good boy.”

Suna’s hand flies towards Atsumu’s dick, painstakingly hard, and wastes no time in flicking his wrist. Callused palm drags his fist up and down, allows him to curl it more at the head, and takes several moments to pause and smear precome on the head. Atsumu is fucking  _ loud. _ Even with a knife in his mouth. Possibly  _ more so _ with a knife in his mouth, and Suna fails to resist the urge to mutter, “Such a loud fuck. Next time I’ll have to gag you.” 

It’s satisfying when Atsumu throbs in his hand, when his dick twitches, and Suna fastens the pace. Now Atsumu truly is writhing, tears pooling at the corners of his lips, back arched. And Suna would love, absolutely  _ love _ to deny his orgasm by grasping the base of his cock. But that’s for another time, certainly. 

Atsumu spurts ribbons of come over his stomach, over the cut that sits on his skin. That Suna did. 

It’s beautiful. 

  
Beauty truly is pain.


End file.
